Today's poem

[novella]

John Book


John Book asked questions about his birth,
Asked his mother for things he didn't know
but in the answers he saw that she made things up
Invented a life so like the life she wanted him to have
but bearing little on his own blood and bone.
She collected words only to play them back
in meaningless constructions of some phantom life.
What he needed was the rock beneath the clay,
the dark oil underneath the rock,
the bituminous coal and the hot burning center,
but it was grass she gave him, grass and gravel
and places where the wind had blown the ground away.

 

[novella]

and another one, for Spring

Now the Sun

Now the sun, the waking world
the warming ground, the leaves unfurled
the greening grass, the muddy drive
the crocus shoots, the tree frogs' jive.

Now to mow the hayrich field
seed the soil that's revealed
roll the burlap, clear the drain
give the hedges shape again

Now the misting evening light
Sinks the sun and brings the night
sets the stars and brights the moon
which wakes the fox and the raccoon.

 

[StillILearn]

Here is poetry I can read!

 

[crushonstewart]

great